


Stepping In

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathtubs, Big Brother Mycroft, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Developing Relationship, Divorce, Divorced Lestrade, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Moving In Together, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Protective Mycroft, Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Brat, Sleeping Together, greg lestrade & sally donovan friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg hears two men arguing in an alley, he goes to see, stepping in when one pushes the other against the wall. And this is how he meets Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night was damp and threatening more rain as Greg left his latest crime scene. Halfway to his car, he heard an argument between two men in a nearby alley. Well, one was arguing; the other seemed to be talking in carefully measured tones. He couldn’t make out the words, but something didn't feel right about it. Greg carefully moved towards the sound.

He recognized the junkie that had started hanging around his crime scenes, demanding to help. He was talking to a man who looked entirely too posh for this neighborhood. 

Suddenly, the junkie grabbed the other’s arm and spun him, shoving him face first against the bricks as he twisted his arm and growled something in his ear.

Greg was halfway to them in a heartbeat. "Oi!" he called. "Let him go!"

The junkie sneered at him, but stepped back, only to slip and trip over some detritus in the alley. The posh man turned and tried to catch him, but there was an audible crack as the junkie’s head hit the street.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked the posh man as he reached the junkie's side. The other man was already checking for injuries as Greg crouched next to the pair.

"I am fine. I can take care of my brother at home." He started to reach for his mobile.

 _Brother_. Greg internally winced. Junkies were never easy to deal with in anyone’s family. But at least someone was watching out for this one. "Are you sure he doesn't need A &E?”

"Quite." The man's tone was icy, but bitterness seeped along the edges.

"At least let me drive you home," Greg offered.

"That will not be necessary." He started to dial, but Greg reached over and placed his hand on his to stop him.

The man seemed startled by the contact, but he quickly covered it up. "Very well, Inspector."

Greg wondered how he knew who he was, but most likely the object of their conversation had complained that he wasn't being allowed on the police work. Greg had shooed him away twice already. He hadn’t seen him tonight, but that was probably why they’d been arguing.

He braced himself to pick up the younger man and carry him. The posh man raised an eyebrow, but followed. Greg fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them at him. The older brother caught them and unlocked the back door. Mindful of the junkie's head, so as not to knock it again, Greg sat him in his backseat and buckled him in. The other one looked with concern at his brother for just a moment; then the mask fell back in place and he got into the passenger seat.

Greg got behind the wheel, turned and offered his hand in the dim light. "Greg Lestrade."

"Mycroft Holmes." His grip was firm and professional. "My brother is Sherlock."

 _Unusual names_. "Pleased to meet you," smiled Greg, "though I wish the circumstances were better."

Mycroft shrugged, glanced again at the back seat, then started giving Greg directions. The house was in a nice enough neighborhood, with a driveway leading to what had probably once been a carriage house. Over Mycroft's protest, he picked up Sherlock again and followed Mycroft into the house.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of my brother," announced Mycroft imperiously as the Inspector carried Sherlock up the stairs.

"I’m sure you are," said Greg, following him into a guest bedroom and settling the young man on the bed. He stepped back as Mycroft removed Sherlock's shoes and tucked him in, shaking his head one more time.

"Thank you, Inspector, but I am sure you will be missed at home," said Mycroft as he ushered him back into the hall.

"Naw, the wife moved out again. Just me right now."

Mycroft looked him over, seeming to weigh him. "Tea?"

"Sounds great, thank you."

Mycroft led the way back downstairs. The house was as posh as the man, and equally chilly. There were few signs of personality in the austere cold paneling. There were no family pictures on the walls and precious little signs that anyone actually lived here. They passed an entry to what was probably a parlor. Greg glanced inside, seeing everything set as perfectly as a museum piece. Walking into the kitchen, there finally seemed to be some personality with a wood table to one side and some small clutter on the counter near the fridge. Mycroft gestured at the worn table and set about making tea. Somewhere, a clock chimed eleven.

"I understand that Sherlock has been hanging around your crime scenes," said Mycroft, back to Greg. He glanced over his shoulder. "I apologize for his behavior."

Greg watched the stiff man. "You've been apologizing for his behavior for a long time." It wasn't a question.

Mycroft sighed. "My brother is very intelligent. Lacking anything else to pique his interest, he turned to drugs. Lately he has taken up a study of crime, which is why he began pestering you. I can endeavor to keep him away. That is what I was attempting to do tonight." He rolled his shoulder and brought two cups to the table. In the brighter light of the kitchen Greg could see a scratch on the man's cheekbone, most likely from the alley wall.

Sipping his tea, Greg regarded him. "Well, he was correct. On the last case, I mean. He cracked it before we did." Greg looked at his cup. "But I can't have a junkie on my crime scenes. If he was clean..."

Mycroft's eyes lit up for a moment, and again the mask quickly slid back into place. "If he could have access to your scenes when sober, perhaps that would give him the motivation to remain so."

Greg smiled at him. "Sounds like it would work well for both of us. And for him."

"It would be a relief to have his energies focused in a better direction," admitted Mycroft.

"I've seen a lot in my time in the Yard. Dealing with an addict in the family is never easy."

Mycroft looked at his tea and let the silence stretch out for so long Greg was worried he'd said the wrong thing. Finally he lifted his eyes and met Greg's gaze. "Mummy doesn't know half of it. Our father knows less."

Greg reached out and let his rough hand touch the smooth one on the table. "You're doing well by him." Mycroft looked at Greg a moment longer, then to their hands, before withdrawing his own.

"I will inform Sherlock when he awakens." Mycroft stood and took his cup to the sink.

Greg watched him for a moment, then stood and snagged a pen from the cup on the counter. There was a pad of paper next to it and he wrote down his mobile number. "If you need anything at all, I want you to call me." He walked over and put it in Mycroft's hand. "Anything, anytime."

Mycroft nodded and Greg gave him another smile, resisting the urge to squeeze his shoulder. He left Mycroft in the kitchen, showing himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to type_40_consutling_detective, beltainefaire, beautifullyheeled and cat-cadaver. Also mylittlecornerofsherlock for letting me bounce titles off her.
> 
> Also I've no idea how long this will be, but it's def gonna be multichapter.


	2. Chapter 2

When Greg got a call four days later, he was surprised it was Sherlock. "I can help with the Brower case," Sherlock said without preamble.

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, unsure if he even wanted to know how Sherlock had found out about the case. "Are you sober?"

"Yes."

At least he sounded like it. But still... "Let me talk to Mycroft."

There was a scoff on the line. "You can find him at Restaurant Sauterelle."

"I'll call you back af..." the line went dead. Cheeky git. Still, Greg saved the number in his mobile and went to look up the cafe, telling Sally he was going out for lunch and receiving a raised eyebrow in response.

"What, I eat," Greg protested weakly as he, grabbed his coat and headed out.

Twenty minutes later he was walking into a higher class of restaurant then he was used to. The maître d' eyed him critically. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Mycroft Holmes."

The maître d’ started to speak, but then the man himself appeared behind him and cut him off. "Inspector Lestrade. So nice of you to join me."

Immediately, an apologetic look crossed the maître d's face as he stepped back. Mycroft led Greg to a table with a view of the front door and his back to the wall. Walking through the restaurant, Greg noticed easy authority in the way Mycroft walked and held his head up. Turning around, Mycroft’s hard blue eyes searched his own as they both took seats. The scratch on his cheek had nearly healed. 

Mycroft poured Greg a bit of wine. "Sherlock called you," he said as set the bottle back on the table.

 _Apparently bluntness ran in the family_. "Yes, he did. Wanted in on my current case. Is he sober?"

"So far," said Mycroft. "Please, order yourself some lunch. My treat."

"Thank you." Greg said politely. 

A waiter arrived fairly quickly to their table. Greg didn't order the most expensive thing on the menu, but he didn't order a cup of soup either. Mycroft said nothing, taking out a mobile after a few minutes to answer someone; possibly some work. Greg knew he was still being watched, but he felt no particular obligation to fill the silence. Instead he sipped his wine (and it was very good), and observed the mid-afternoon crowd of business folk.

Their food arrived to them promptly. The staff were obviously very accommodating to Mycroft. It made Greg wonder what the man did for a living. Clearly he had money, at least. He was a bit surprised by the light meal in front of Mycroft, but kept his comments to himself. The food was as good as he expected it to be and he smiled at Mycroft as they ate.

Mycroft looked at him after a few minutes, then settled back in his chair, only having eaten half his food. “I believe Sherlock is capable of assisting you at this time.”

This whole situation felt like more than just a business meeting. He wanted to know more about Mycroft Holmes. But he was also clearly a man who kept everyone at a distance. Greg cut a piece of his dinner and offered the fork to Mycroft. “You should try this.” 

Mycroft eyed it, then accepted it, chewing it slowly. “Yes, it is quite good,” he said as he handed the fork back.

“Would you split a piece of cake with me? I’m still a bit hungry.” Greg kept his easy smile in place.

Blue eyes searched his a moment, then he nodded. “Very well, the chocolate cake is excellent with this wine.”

“Great.” Greg got their waiter’s attention and soon they were sharing the cake between them.

“Once you leave here you should contact my brother. He is no doubt already working on your case,” said Mycroft as they finished.

“When do I get your number?” asked Greg, cheekily offering him cake from his fork.

Ignoring the gesture, Mycroft sat back and waved the waiter over for the check. “I will be in touch, Gregory.”

Huh, no one called him by his full name anymore. “I look forward to it. Thank you for lunch.” 

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

Knowing he was dismissed, Greg made his way back out. He was halfway back to the Yard when there was a message from Sally. 

_That kid is hanging around last night’s scene._

_Thanks for letting me know, I’ll take care of it._

Greg headed for the place, wondering just what he’d find.

Heading up the stairs he heard a noise and stepped into the flat next to the one where the murder had occurred. Sherlock was on his hands and knees, peering at the baseboard. Greg crossed his arms. “Find anything?”

“Several things.” He started rattling off all the things he’d deduced in the time he’d been there. Greg was actually impressed. He took out his notepad and jotted down notes for later.

“So you think this wasn’t his first murder?”

“Hers. But I would need to see the body to be certain.” Greg raised an eyebrow, quickly wondering just how much trouble he could possibly get himself into. 

“All right, come on. I’ll introduce you to Molly.”

Sherlock was smugly quiet in the car as they headed to Barts, and that was fine by Greg. It wasn’t any trouble for Greg to get him in. Soon he was knocking on the door of Molly Hooper’s office and introducing the both of them. 

“Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, Molly Hooper.” She smiled warmly at him, but he was barely paying attention and ignored her offered hand. “I’m letting him see the body from last night,” said Greg.

“All right,” she said, leading them into the morgue. Greg knew she was good at her job, and he was equally curious as to what Sherlock would uncover. This time he had his notepad ready as Sherlock set about examining, rattling off things the Inspector wouldn’t have seen in a million years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much much thanks to beautifullyheeled and Beltainefaire.


	3. Chapter 3

The next murder was four days later. Greg had his own people process the scene, then texted Sherlock. Sally eyed him and pulled him aside. "What are you doing, sir?"

"Sherlock gave us some good information after the last one, figured I'd let him in on this one."

Sally met his eyes, opened her mouth, then thought better of it and stepped back. A few minutes later, Sherlock made his way into the flat under the watchful and wary gaze of New Scotland Yard.

"Blow to the back of the head," said Anderson confidently.

"Wrong," said Sherlock, crouching next to the body.

Anderson sputtered, Sally crossed her arms. Ignoring them, Sherlock started reeling off deductions almost faster than Greg could take notes. By the time he finished, people were openly gaping at him.

Greg started to give orders based on what Sherlock said.

Sally stepped forward. "Sir, what if he's the one that committing these crimes?"

Before Greg could answer, Sherlock stood and turned his focus on her. "Long term boyfriend moved out two days ago," he told her.

Her eyes narrowed and she glanced at Greg. He shook his head.

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

To Greg's surprise, Sherlock launched into a detailed explanation, going off of her clothes and the state of her shoes and hands. By the time he finished Sally was staring daggers at him. 

"Freak," she growled, turning and walking away. There were other murmurs, too.

"That's enough, now go on," said Greg.

Sherlock stood off to the side. Greg looked at him. "They have no reason to trust me," Sherlock said. "Their reaction is completely understandable."

"Still, you were an arse to her. Let me give you a ride home."

Sherlock looked at Greg. "I do believe your wife will sign the papers this time."

 _How the hell?_ "Thanks. Come on.”

The drive was mercifully quiet. Greg found himself wondering just what he’d gotten into with this young man next to him. 

He pulled up to the address Sherlock gave. “Text me if you need anything." 

Sherlock didn't respond, jut turned and vanished into the block of flats.

Greg sighed and headed for home. To his surprise, he found his wife waiting for him, and it was just like Sherlock had predicted. There was a brief discussion, and then he went to their bedroom, throwing clothes in a suitcase. If she wanted the house, that was fine by him. It would just be a relief to have things legally over. They'd been technically over for a long time. 

"Find yourself someone nice that works odd hours," she said as he walked to the front door.

He looked back at her. "Do yourself a favor and don't get married again unless you're totally sure."

She laughed. "I'm not going to. We got married too young, Greg."

"Maybe so, but we had fun for a while. Good luck." 

He headed out, exhaling as he closed the door and headed for his car. He could get a hotel room for the night and a flat over the weekend. He'd be all moved out in a few days and they could both move on. His thoughts strayed to Mycroft and cool blue eyes. At least he could pursue him without guilt now.

Halfway to his destination, the phone started clamoring for his attention. Glancing at it, he didn't recognize the number, but still pulled over to answer it. "Lestrade."

"I believe Sherlock has done something foolish." Mycroft's voice was calm, though there was worry behind it. "When you left, he went back around towards the crime scene. It seems he was attempting to investigate on his own and may have got himself in trouble."

Greg cursed. "Do you know where he's at?"

"Pick me up," said Mycroft, giving a nearby address. 

Greg hung up and quickly found Mycroft standing on the kerb with his umbrella. He slid smoothly into the passenger seat, looking at his mobile. He gave Greg an address and the inspector swung the car around.

"Do I want to know how you know where he is?"

"I'm only a minor government official," said Mycroft without looking up.

That seemed far from the truth, but Greg knew better than to question. "My wife and I have officially split up," he said instead, glancing at Mycroft. "I'm a free man."

Mycroft looked up from his mobile. "And yet you already sought my number," he said icily.

"We've been over a while, the paperwork is just a formality," he said defensively. 

He wasn't the one that had been sleeping around. Mycroft said nothing, just returned his attention to his mobile. Greg glanced down at his own. 

"Well, I've got your number now." The silver-haired D.I. smiled to himself as he spoke.

"Perhaps," said Mycroft, without looking up. Greg rolled his eyes and focused on the road. They pulled up near some some run-down flats and got out. “It is about a block away,” said Mycroft. He reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol.

“Mycroft!” hissed Greg. “Is that gun even legal?”

“I trust you know how to use a firearm, Inspector.” He handed it over. Greg took it, wondering just what Mycroft expected them to find. 

“What about you, then?” asked Greg, flicking the safety off and making sure it was loaded.

Mycroft merely smiled at him. “I will be fine.”

Greg shook his head. Mycroft led the way into a maze of back streets and dilapidated buildings. There was a grunt that sounded far too much like someone getting the shit kicked out of them, but he knew better than to rush. Mycroft was tense as they moved carefully closer.

Finally, they reached a door half-hanging off it’s hinges. Greg peeked around the corner and saw Sherlock with his hands bound behind him. There was a semi-circle of people, looked like mostly teens, with a woman clearly in charge. She was delivering another kick to Sherlock, her expression dark. 

“Shouldn’t come snooping where you don’t belong,” she growled.

Mycroft had vanished from his side. Greg hit a couple buttons on his mobile to summon Sally and the yard, then, hoping Mycroft was cutting them off, stepped inside, gun raised. “Freeze!”

There was a heartbeat where they obeyed, then most of the teenagers tried to scatter. 

Greg kept the gun on the woman and heard a shout of surprise followed by the sound of someone hitting the floor. A moment later Mycroft came into view, herding the teens back. He crouched to release his brother and check on him, while the others watched him warily or their eyes shifted between the two men. Greg didn’t drop his hand and his aim on the woman was steady. She seemed strangely nonchalant about the situation.

Soon enough, there were the sounds of sirens. Sally led the way in, looking from Greg to Sherlock and Mycroft, then at the woman. Greg nodded. “She’s our murderess.” 

Mycroft looked up. “These others are accessories. They’ve been helping her complete her crimes.”

“Don’t tell me there’s two of them,” muttered Sally as she went to cuff the woman.

“Donovan, just do your job,” growled Greg, finally lowering his gun as they started processing the suspects. He moved to Mycroft’s side. “Does he need the hospital?”

“It would be best,” he admitted. 

Greg squeezed his shoulder and spoke with the others. Soon an ambulance arrived. Mycroft watched as Sherlock was fussed over. “He will be fine,” said Mycroft. “But he should be observed overnight.”

“I’m sure he will be. Can I take you home?” Greg knew he could take care of the paperwork in the morning. And Sally was still watching him. Them, really. Well, she could stare all she wanted.

Mycroft searched his eyes a moment. “You don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight. I do have a spare room.”

Greg smiled back. “Alright. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to beltainefaire, beautifully heeled and type_40_consulting detective. And the rest of the group for encouragement.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey was quiet. Greg knew by now that Mycroft liked his silences. They were soon pulling up the long drive. It had started to rain, just that soft drizzle that so often danced along the London streets. Mycroft didn't even open his umbrella as he got out and took the five quick steps to his back door.

The sun was just setting as Mycroft led him into the kitchen. “Tea or wine?” he asked.

“Have you had dinner?” asked Greg.

Mycroft shook his head. Greg went to the fridge and opened it. “I’ll make dinner for us, you pick out the wine. I see there’s some chicken in here.”

Pushing up his sleeves, Greg was soon working over a hot pan. Mycroft helped prepare the vegetables and they moved easily around the kitchen together. Greg barely had to ask for an ingredient or a spice before it was in his hand. 

“My grand-mère was a great cook,” he said with a smile as he dished out the food. “Used to spend summers with her when I was small.”

Mycroft gave him a small smile as he poured the wine. “I am certain it tastes as good as it smells.”

They slipped into companionable silence again as they ate. Greg couldn't help but watch him. If this was most relationships they would be chattering about their families or their hobbies or their jobs. But they both knew the other’s work (more or less), and family and well, that left hobbies, but he hadn’t had time for much in a long time.

They finished and Greg was pleased to see that Mycroft had eaten everything on his plate. He stood to gather the dishes. “Really, Gregory, you’re a guest.”

There was that ‘Gregory’ again. “I don’t mind. You can help, though.”

They washed up together and then Mycroft was taking him through the sterile house again and this time they went into a library. This room, at least, had more personality, with groaning bookshelves and an old desk. There was a fireplace, of course, with an armchair in front of it. Mycroft set his wine on the desk and fetched a second plush chair from the corner and brought it in front of the fireplace as well, setting the two close together, but not too close. Greg smiled.

Soon enough they were sitting together in front of a crackling fire, working on that bottle of wine. Mycroft had his head in his mobile again, clearly doing some work. Greg had found a book and was reading. It felt like coming home and he realized he was more relaxed here than he’d been at ‘home’ in a very long time.

Finally, the clock chimed ten. Mycroft looked up and at the nearly empty wine bottle. Greg smiled at him again. “Maybe we should head to bed?” he asked.

“I will help you collect your things from the car,” said Mycroft.

There wasn’t much, really, but he accepted Mycroft’s help and followed him to a guest bedroom. Mycroft pointed out the bathroom and, after a moment of hesitation, his own bedroom. “Do let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” said Greg, meeting his eyes. Impulsively he picked up Mycroft’s hand and kissed the back of it. This time he didn’t pull away right off, keeping his gaze. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. Then Mycroft blinked and turned away.

“Goodnight, Inspector.”

Greg watched him go and smiled.

The next day he woke early from habit. They shared a quick breakfast in the kitchen, and then Greg took Mycroft and dropped him off near a non-descript office building before heading on into work. There was some good-natured ribbing from Sally, but most of the others left him alone about things as he did paperwork. There was a text from Mycroft around mid-morning to let him know that Sherlock had been released from the hospital. Smiling even more broadly, Greg went back to work.

Over the next few days they fell into a routine. They’d wake up and share a quick breakfast, then Greg would take Mycroft to work before heading to his own. The second morning, Mycroft gave him his own key and since Greg often got home first, he’d fix dinner for the two of them, sometimes even managing to have it done just as the other man walked in the door. After dinner they’d retire to the library and do some work or read or simply enjoy one anothers company. Then they’d go to their separate rooms and in the morning start all over. Greg soon forgot all about looking for another flat. But aside from smiles and the occasional touch, it seemed Mycroft was keeping him at arms length. Well, Greg could be patient.

Over the weekend, Greg collected the last few things he wanted from the house he’d shared with his wife and left his key on the counter, feeling like it was finally done and over with. Driving away, he didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror.

Mycroft helped him bring them in. He looked at the boxes. “You do not have to put this all in your room,” he said. “You can put some of these things elsewhere in the house.”

“I’m not even paying you rent,” protested Greg.

“But you make an amazing blanquette de veau,” smiled Mycroft.

Greg chuckled and took one of the boxes into the kitchen, putting his favorite coffee mugs into the cabinet and adding his grand-mère’s pots and pans to the collection in the cabinet. He smiled as he handled the cookware. She would have liked Mycroft, he suspected.

When he finished he found Mycroft putting a few things in the living room that he never seemed to use. It made the room warmer already. At the bottom of the box he took out a frame that held two black and white photographs of the sea.

“One is from my Mum’s family home, looking across the channel towards France. The other is from my père’s looking back towards England.” Greg smiled and touched the glass. “He died when I was twelve and we moved back here permanently.”

“Ils ont créé quelque chose plus beau,” said Mycroft quietly, looking at the picture. Greg’s heart skipped. _They created something beautiful_. He drew his hand to the side and brought it to rest on Mycroft’s, still holding the frame.

They were silent a long moment, then Greg spoke again, still looking at the picture. “Je ne savais pas jusqu'à ce que vous la beauté.” _I didn’t know beauty until I met you_.

Mycroft blushed and cleared his throat. “I know the perfect place to hang this,” he said instead, turning and walking out to the entry. There was a blank wall facing the door and after fetching a hammer and nail the picture hung in a place of honor.

Smiling, Greg reached over and took his hand. “Thank you.” 

“You are welcome, Gregory.” Mycroft squeezed Greg's hand. “After we finish putting your things away, I took the liberty of making us a dinner reservation.”

“Tired of my cooking already?” teased Greg.

“Never,” Mycroft looked at him and for a moment Greg thought he might kiss him, but then he turned away, retrieving his hand. “I do believe you will like the place. And you will wish to dress up.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” said Greg, letting his hand brush Mycroft’s again before going to clean up and dress.

Mycroft gave directions as they got into Greg’s car. As they grew closer, Greg started to have a suspicion, confirmed when he pulled up in front of Restaurant Sauterelle. Mycroft really could be sentimental, even if he’d never admit it.

“They have a very good flower tasting menu,” said Mycroft as Greg got his door for him.

“That sounds interesting, at least.” There was no wait as the maître d’ greeted them and led them back to what must have been Mycroft’s usual table. The first course and wine was brought to them almost before they settled. Greg tangled his feet with Mycroft’s under the table and earned a raised eyebrow. But he didn’t pull his feet away. Instead, he met Greg’s eyes, and reached across the table to touch his hand.

Greg couldn’t help but grin at him, sipping his wine. “Seems like things are settling then,” he said.

“It would appear so,” said Mycroft.

Greg picked up his hand and kissed the back of it, watching Mycroft’s cheeks color. It made him wonder what else he could do to get that look on his face.

They’d just been served the second course when Greg’s mobile went off. Groaning internally, he pulled it out and looked at it. “I have to go,” he said.

Mycroft nodded. “I understand. I’ll see you...at home.”

Greg stood and pulled his coat on. He looked at Mycroft and, before he could change his mind, leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “Save me some leftovers.”

The normally completely put together man looked half stunned. “I...will,” he stammered.

With another warm smile, Greg turned and headed out the door, hoping this case wouldn’t take half the night.

As things turned out, it did. It was nearly two in the morning by the time he staggered through the door. He took off his coat and Mycroft came out of living room, rubbing his eyes. “Did you wait up for me?” asked Greg.

“I was napping,” said Mycroft. “Are you still hungry?”

Mycroft looked younger, or maybe Greg was just tired. Either way, in his pyjamas and robe at two in the morning, this wasn’t the same Mycroft that wore his suit like a coat of armor at all times. 

Greg came to him and took his hands. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“It’s fine. We both have other obligations. I am certain I will do the same at some point.” Mycroft was watching him.

Lifting his hand, Greg cupped his cheek. He drew Mycroft in for a kiss, this time taking his time and making sure he knew exactly what he meant by it. Mycroft sighed softly and leaned into him, arms coming up to circle his waist, holding him loosely.

Greg wanted the kiss to last forever, but finally he pulled back and leaned up to kiss Mycroft’s forehead. “Come on, I know we’re both tired and sleeping on a sofa isn’t the comfortable.”

Mycroft leaned on Greg as they headed up the stairs. They paused outside Greg’s door and Mycroft lifted his head to kiss him softly before slowly pulling away. “Goodnight, Gregory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks as per usual to the writing group, especially type_40_consulting_detective and beltainefaire, and to thelensfocuses for the French.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Greg was sitting at his desk, sipping his coffee, when Sally knocked on the frame of his open door and let herself in. “Got a minute?”

Setting his paperwork aside Greg leaned back. “What’s on your mind?”

Sally crossed her arms. “Actually, its about you, sir.” She glanced back towards the office.

Greg got up and closed the door. “What is it, Sally?”

“It’s just, first you’re letting a junkie on our crime scenes, and now there’s rumors you’re screwing his brother.” Sally wasn’t meeting his eyes.

Greg bit back the flush of anger. “I am not ‘screwing’ his brother. And Sherlock has been invaluable.”

“Still, Greg, there _are_ rumors. If you’ve got a conflict of interest…” Sally watched him with concern.

Greg dragged his hands down his cheeks. “I moved in with Mycroft,” he admitted.

She raised an eyebrow at that. “And you aren’t….?”

“No, well, not yet. But I’m not letting Sherlock on these cases because of that. Come on, even you have to see how useful he’s been.” Greg leaned back against his desk.

Sally studied him a moment. “But this Mycroft, you like him, yeah? I know things with your wife weren’t the best.”

“It’s not a rebound. I don’t know what it is yet,” he admitted. “But we’re taking it slow.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think I should get my own place?”

Stepping forward, Sally put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been happier the last week than anytime since I’ve known you. We’ll figure it out.”

Greg gave her a smile. “Thanks.”

Sally nodded. “I just wanted to give you a heads up. I’ll do what I can. Better get back to your paperwork, sir.” She smiled back and headed out again.

Later that afternoon they got called out on a case. A murder, but it seemed simple enough. Greg surveyed the scene and slid his mobile back into his pocket.

Several hours and one false lead later, Greg finally pulled up to home. Well, Mycroft's house, but it felt like home. The place was dark so he figured his ( _roommate? boyfriend?_ ) Mycroft was working late himself.

Letting himself in, Greg hung up his coat and smiled at the picture. Switching his mobile to his trousers, he went to the kitchen to see about dinner.

There was no sign of Mycroft by the time he finished, so he gave the man another fifteen minutes before putting away a plate for him and eating his own. He'd just started on the washing up when he heard the front door open and close. Mycroft would have seen his car, but he still called out. "In the kitchen." 

Greg dried his hands and retrieved the plate, just as Mycroft stepped into the room. Then nearly dropped it. Mycroft looked tired, nearly haggard. And rumpled. Mycroft Holmes was many things, but never _rumpled_. "What happened?" Greg managed to put the plate down and pulled out a chair for him.

Mycroft sank into it and rubbed his face. "I have just checked my brother into the hospital after he took an obscene amount of illicit narcotics."

Greg sat heavily in the other chair. "I didn't call him about this case today."

"I do believe that was the catalyst, yes." Mycroft's voice was quiet as he looked at Greg.

Swallowing hard, Greg picked at a fingernail, avoiding his gaze. They had an agreement after all; it was Greg who hadn’t called. "You want me to move out?"

Mycroft reached across the table and took Greg's hand. "My brother is a genius about many things. When it comes to people, however..."

"He does seem to have some issues with that," admitted Greg, looking at their hands.

Mycroft entwined their fingers. "Sherlock _is_ an adult. He chose to throw a strop and made sure I'd see the result. But I will not allow him to destroy this fragile flower just beginning to take root."

Looking up quickly, Greg smiled. Perhaps he could have guessed Mycroft like a bit of poetry. He squeezed his hand. "He'll be okay, yeah?"

"Yes. And you are under no obligation to bring him into every case you have."

Greg nodded and got up, letting go reluctantly. He heated the plate for him. "Maybe I should have called him. We did spend two hours chasing a false lead."

"No one in this world is perfect, Gregory."

 _But you come close_ flitted across Greg's mind. "The important thing is we try. You should take a hot bath when you're done."

Mycroft looked up and met his eyes. "Would you care to join me?" 

Greg’s breath caught. “I’d love to,” he admitted, holding his eyes. “Eat up first though.” He turned away and went to finish the washing up.

After a few minutes, Mycroft brought him his plate and moved by his side to dry the dishes. When they finished, Greg looked up at him. “Still want me to join you in that bath?”

“Quite.” Mycroft leaned in to kiss him, then led him upstairs. This time they passed through Mycroft’s room and then into an en suite with an enormous tub. Greg started unbuttoning his shirt as Mycroft got the water running. He turned and sat on the edge of the tub, letting his hand trail in the water to test the temperature, licking his lips as Greg bared his chest.

Greg stepped closer, leaning down down to capture Mycroft’s lips, before tugging him to his feet and starting on the suit buttons. “We will only go so far as you are comfortable,” he promised softly, pushing the suit coat off his shoulders, then his waistcoat.

Mycroft was clearly nervous as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. “Hey,” Greg cupped his cheek. “Neither of us are spring chickens. I think you’re perfectly handsome.” Mycroft leaned in to kiss him again as he pulled his shirt free and lay it with the other clothes.

Greg stepped back to toe off his shoes and loosened his belt. Mycroft watched as he unselfconsciously finished stripping and gave him a warm smile. Part of Greg wanted to move towards Mycroft and help him, but he didn’t want to crowd him either. Instead he reached over and shut off the water.

He turned back to look at the sound of trousers hitting the floor. Mycroft stepped out of them, then watched Greg as he took off his pants. “Tu êtes beau,” said Greg. _You are handsome._

Mycroft blushed, the color traveling down to his pale chest. It made the constellation of freckles stand out all the more. Standing, Greg offered his hand. Mycroft took it and Greg helped him into the tub, following carefully after. With a sigh, Mycroft leaned against the side, letting the hot water seep into his bones. 

Greg watched him, then moved a little closer. Mycroft smiled at him and after a little jostling, Mycroft was leaning against Greg’s chest, head on his shoulder. Greg’s cock twitched at the contact, but he was perfectly content to hold Mycroft’s hand and run the other one down his lightly furred chest, leaning down to kiss his neck.

Humming softly, Mycroft relaxed further into him. Greg savored the moment, knowing that all to soon their other lives would intrude. And he would have to give Sherlock a piece of his mind the next time he saw him. He wondered if Sherlock knew just how much his brother cared. At least the cut on Mycroft’s cheek had healed. The damage to his heart, however, well Greg just felt privileged to be here.

“Stop thinking so loud,” murmured Mycroft. Greg smiled and kissed the top of his head and let himself relax as well, holding both Mycroft’s hands.

“Je suis tellement heureux pour tu,” said Greg softly. _I am so glad for you._

There was a moment of silence, then: “Tu êtes un homme que je pourrais aimer,” said Mycroft just as soft.

Greg stilled, heart skipping. _I could love a man like you._

“Et moi, tu.” _And I you._ Greg pulled Mycroft a little closer.

The silence stretched out after that. Greg held him tenderly until the water started to grow cold. Mycroft turned in his arms to kiss him, and Greg kissed back, gently, but the promise of more was there if he wanted it.

Instead, Mycroft pulled away and grabbed a couple fluffy towels, passing one to Greg as he drained the water. Greg accepted it, then tugged Mycroft closer and proceeded to dry him over his small protests. Then, Mycroft toweled off Greg’s hair.

Mycroft dressed in his fine pyjamas, Greg popped down to his room for a t-shirt and pants, but soon returned. Mycroft smiled at him and turned down the blankets; a clear invitation. Greg took it and climbed in next to him. He settled in on his back as Mycroft turned off the light, then curled up with his head on Greg’s shoulder, the inspector’s arm wrapped protectively around him as they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to beautifullyheeled. And I'm sorry if the French is wonky, I mostly used google translate, though horsegrl2012 also looked it over.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, they picked up their routine like nothing special had happened. Greg dropped Mycroft off, and then headed to his own work. But he whistled as he walked in the door. Sally eyed him and Greg gave her a smile.

The rest of the day was spent working on the murder case. Late in the afternoon he also pulled up what information he could on Sherlock Holmes. There wasn't much. Greg strongly suspected Mycroft had a hand in making things go away.

Sherlock would never learn if Mycroft kept fixing his mistakes.

A plan started forming in Greg's mind, but he'd have to make sure Sherlock was alert and sober before he proceeded. And he’d have to get him alone, though that should be easy enough.

For the next week or so things continued as they had with Mycroft. They shared a bed, but limited themselves to soft kisses. Greg wasn't going to push Mycroft into anything. Even if all he did was hold his hand, he'd be happy. Sometimes they would whisper endearments to one another, but always in French, as if neither of them could bear to speak of such things in their more common tongue.

When the weekend arrived, Greg took Mycroft to the Tate Gallery and they had a relaxing afternoon among the artworks. Greg hadn't made time to visit in a while, so he spent a lot of time studying the pieces. Mycroft didn't rush him. If anything, Greg found the other man admiring _him_. It only made the warmth inside grow.

They finally walked outside as the sun set. “I know just the restaurant,” said Mycroft. 

“Someplace different this time?” asked Greg, getting out his keys.

“I think you’ll like it.” As they got settled into the car, Mycroft leaned over and stole a kiss. This place wasn’t quite as fancy as the other, but still upscale. These waiters seemed to know Mycroft as well. 

The posh man must have caught his look, because he shrugged. “I did not always have an excellent live-in chef.”

Greg chuckled and took a sip of his wine. “I knew that was why you kept me around,” he teased.

Mycroft chuckled softly. “One of several reasons.”

They lapsed into their usual comfortable silence. When Greg finished, Mycroft signaled the waiter. A few moments later he brought out a warm piece of chocolate cake with two forks.

Greg couldn't help his grin as Mycroft took a forkful of cake and silently offered it to him. Eating it slowly and sensually off the offered fork, Greg held Mycroft's gaze, watching the carefully controlled man's eyes turn dark and tongue steal out to wet his lips.

When Greg had licked the last bit of icing from it, Mycroft withdrew the cleaned fork. "I do believe you have my number," he said faintly.

Greg gave him a slightly predatory smile."Suppose I should have known cake was the way. I think we should get the rest of it to go, eh?"

"Indeed."

A few minutes later they were back in Greg's car. The inspector rested his hand on Mycroft's knee and the official laid his cool hand over his warm one.

The drive seemed interminable, but finally Greg was parking at the house. Mycroft was out of the car first, long legs taking him to the door in four steps instead of his usual five. By the time Greg reached him, his hands were shaking as he fit the key in the lock. Cupping Mycroft’s hips, Greg kissed his shoulder, making him drop the keyring as he pushed open the door.

Greg gave a wicked grin as Mycroft reached down and snatched them up. Straightening, he turned to face the inspector, impassive mask gone and heat in his eyes. Before Greg could move, he was pulling him into a hungry kiss. Greg moaned and turned them, pressing Mycroft against the closed door. Mycroft groaned and pushed his coat from his shoulders. Greg wanted to take him right here, but he didn't have any supplies. Apparently thinking the same thing, Mycroft gently pushed him back, following him with his lips.

Tripping, stripping, they somehow made their way from the entryway, up the stairs, and into Mycroft's bedroom. By the time they made it through the doorway, they were both naked, Mycroft moving up to the middle of the large bed, Greg hovering over him.

"Gregory," Mycroft groaned against his kiss. "Second drawer on the left."

Nipping Mycroft's lower lip, Greg pulled away and lunged across the bed. He got the drawer open and pulled out a half-full bottle of lube and a condom.

"Been thinking of me?" he asked over his shoulder.

Mycroft rolled forward and bit an arse cheek. Growling, Greg turned over and pushed Mycroft onto his back again, spreading his legs apart with his knees. " _I've_ been thinking of you," Greg said, his tone roughened with desire. Getting the bottle open with one hand, he coated his fingers. He kissed down Mycroft's chest before raising his head to watch his lover's face as he pushed one finger inside.

The blue eyes fell closed and he moaned. 

"Beau." _Beautiful_. Mycroft flushed at the compliment, arching as Greg added a second finger. Leaning in again, Greg liked and bit and kissed the fair skin underneath him while he pumped his fingers and stretched his lover.

Moving steadily down, Greg swallowed Mycroft's cock with no warning, making him shout with pleasure, blunt nails dragging down his scalp. Greg's own cock begged for attention, but he'd get his own soon enough. He added a third finger, feeling Mycroft moan again and shudder with pleasure. As Mycroft started to tense, Greg pulled his mouth away before he could climax, wiping his lips with his free hand, leaving his lover panting.

Quickly, Greg rolled on a condom, withdrawing his fingers and barely giving Mycroft a chance to miss them before hauling his thighs up and thrusting forward.

They groaned together. Mycroft wrapped his legs around Greg's waist. The Inspector wrapped Mycroft in his arms, bottoming out before setting a fast pace. Mycroft clung to him, head tucked against his shoulder. 

When Greg shifted and hit his prostate, Mycroft bowed underneath him, nails scratching down his arms. Greg's teeth found his exposed throat, scraping along the delicate flesh. One of his hands shifted to stroke Mycroft. He was so restrained in his regular life, Greg reveled in every small sound he made.The reckless abandonment of propriety was thrilling and culminated in a nearly wordless cry as he came between them. Greg groaned and followed him over, breathing heavily against his shoulder.

They held each other as their heartbeats slowed. Finally, Greg kissed Mycroft gently and pulled out. He kissed Mycroft's tummy, licking up a bit of the come, before padding into the en suite. He binned the condom and warmed a flannel, coming back to wipe up Mycroft, who'd already shifted to a dryer part of the bed, dozing lightly.

Greg smiled warmly and brushed his lips against his lover’s. He finished and returned to the en suite to clean himself up. Once he got back to bed, he pulled the blankets over them both. Mycroft snuggled against his side. Greg kissed the top of his head. Still Sherlock to deal with, but that could be handled in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to beautifullyheeled, beltainefaire and conductoroftardislight.


	7. Chapter 7

It ended up taking a few days longer than he intended, but finally Greg texted Sherlock and left the yard. He hoped he'd phrased the message vague and yet interesting enough as he loitered by the Thames.

Sherlock arrived ten minutes after he did. He sniffed the air and gave Greg a dubious look. "I thought perhaps there would be a murder, Inspector."

 _Not yet,_ thought Greg before he could reign in his thoughts. "I understand you overdosed the other week."

The detective's eyes narrowed. "Just because you are now intimate with my brother does not give you the right to lecture me."

Greg held his gaze. "I didn't call you out here only because of Mycroft. I'd agreed to let you work with me under condition of sobriety. _You_ broke that."

"You failed to contact me regarding a case."

"Damn right I did," Greg's temper frayed. "I'm a Deputy Inspector, Sherlock, not an idiot. And I decide who does and does not have access to my cases. And frankly, your actions make me not want to bring you in again."

Sherlock stiffened his spine and turned away. "If that is what you've decided..."

"No, it's not." Sherlock turned back with a question on his face. "Sherlock, do you _know_ what your brother has done to try and protect and help you?"

The young man half turned away and gave a small nod.

Greg ran a hand through his hair. "You’re clever, but if you're not at least somewhat reliable then I can't work with you. If I decide we can handle a case without you, then that is no reason to harm yourself. Do you understand?"

Sherlock nodded again. "I will maintain my sobriety."

"Good. I know addiction isn't easy to deal with." Sherlock bristled, but kept his silence. "Relapses might happen. But if you intentionally throw a strop just to hurt your brother again I will not hesitate to drop you."

Sherlock was silent a moment, then he nodded again. "Understood." Sherlock turned and gave a smirk. "For your current case, I would investigate Harold Cummings."

"Thanks," said Greg dryly, pulling out his mobile. "I'll call you when _I_ need you."

"Of course,” said the detective as Greg started back for his car.. "And you are good for Mycroft.” 

Greg turned, but Sherlock was already hurrying away. With a smile, Greg headed back to his car.

His intention was to get off early, go home, and fix Mycroft and himself a nice meal. Instead he was out until nearly midnight chasing a suspect (of course Sherlock had been right). By the time he pulled into the driveway he was running on the last dregs of adrenaline and the promise of seeing his (lover?) (boyfriend?) (they really did need to sort that out) again. Instead the house was dark. Greg frowned and unlocked the door. A note was sitting on the console by the door and Greg picked it up. Of course Mycroft had the neatest handwriting he’d ever seen. And apparently he’d been called out of the country for an emergency meeting. Greg rubbed his temples and carried the note upstairs, setting it on his dresser. 

He still hadn’t moved any of his clothes into Mycroft’s room. Only his toothbrush and shaving kit had made their way to the en suite. He stripped out of his work clothes and briefly considered a hot shower before deciding he was too tired. Greg glanced at his bed, but no, even if Mycroft wasn’t here, his bed felt like where Greg belonged. Even if this house seemed to rattle with emptiness without him. Rubbing his eyes, he went the few steps down the hall and crawled between the sheets, stealing Mycroft’s pillow and breathing in the faint scent of him.

Over the next few days, Greg came to realize how much he’d grown used to Mycroft’s presence. There was no communications from him, but he could imagine it must have been a delicate situation if it required Mycroft’s personal presence and attention. The next case wasn’t that bad, so he didn’t call Sherlock, though he waited tensely to hear if he’d done anything else stupid. But shortly after he got home, Sherlock turned up on the doorstep.

Nothing was said about the case. Sherlock didn’t really say much at all, though he at least picked at Greg’s cooking. It seemed maybe he was just looking for company, and Greg wasn’t going to argue about it. This house was far too big for one person; it made him wonder how Mycroft had stayed here alone.

After supper, Sherlock followed Greg upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms and curled up on top of the sheets to sleep. Greg smiled as he closed the door after him, heading back downstairs to pour himself a glass of wine and sit in the library for a while to read.

He was just about to go to sleep himself when he heard the front door and got quickly to his feet. To his relief it was Mycroft coming inside, looking tired, but otherwise pleased with himself. Greg came to him and kissed him as he was shrugging off his coat. Mycroft kissed him back and ran a hand through his silver hair. “It’s good to be home,” he said softly.

“I missed you, too,” said Greg. “Sherlock’s here.” Worry started to cross Mycroft’s face. “He’s fine, asleep upstairs. Think maybe he just didn’t want to be by himself tonight.”

Mycroft nodded. “He does get like that from time to time. Asleep under the blankets or on top?”

“On top,” Greg watched his face.

“Bad sign, then,” said Mycroft, turning away from him to hang his coat. “Means he’d like to use, but he’s trying not to.”

“Good sign though, that he came here, isn’t it?” Greg asked, taking his umbrella and putting it in it’s place.

“He trusts you,” said Mycroft.

“Well, I am your….” Greg took his hand. “Boyfriend?”

Mycroft made a face. “That sounds juvenile. You are the man I choose to be with, Gregory.”

“Good enough for me,” Greg leaned in to kiss him again. “Hungry? Made dinner, there’s some leftovers.”

“I am tired, but I do believe I could be convinced to eat your cooking.”

Greg smiled and led him into the kitchen, heating him a plate and then going to fetch his glass of wine. Mycroft ate fast, which made Greg wonder how much he’d been eating while he’d been gone. Still, he busied himself straightening the immaculate kitchen he waited for him to finish.

Mycroft stood and put the plate in the sink, leaning in to kiss Greg. “You did not have to wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” smiled Greg, taking his hand in his. Mycroft studied his eyes and leaned in to kiss him again. “I know you’re tired,” Greg cupped his hips. “Let’s go on to bed.”

They headed up to the bedroom. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the arrangement of pillows, but said nothing as he changed. Greg stripped to pants and a t-shirt, climbing in while Mycroft went to brush his teeth. The official curled up tightly against his side. Greg kissed the top of his head and simply held him as they fell asleep.

The next day he took Mycroft to work as usual; somehow Sherlock was gone before they got up, but Mycroft said not to worry. At least Greg’s workday seemed relatively easy. It seemed most of the rumors had been squashed, no doubt due to Sally’s efforts, and when he called Sherlock on the odd case in the afternoon, there was some grumbling, but no one outright challenged either of them.

Still, he was glad to get home that night. To his surprise, Mycroft was waiting for him with dinner. Takeaway from one of his fancy restaurants, by the look of things. “Smells delicious.”

“I believe you will enjoy.” Mycroft got his chair for him and poured the wine. They lapsed into comfortable silence as they ate, but finally it was Mycroft that broke it. “You spoke with Sherlock.”

“I did.” Greg gestured with his fork. “He needed to be told a few things.”

Mycroft nodded and reached across the table to take Greg’s free hand. “Thank you.”

Smiling Greg put down his fork and leaned across the table. “You’re welcome. Now come on, I want dessert and it isn’t that cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rather enjoyed this fic. Hopefully you all have too.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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